The Demise of Daisy, RIP
by katbybee
Summary: This is written for the XIIIc Story Challenge #33 "Do We Have a Catalogue?" from 96 Hubbles to explain why in Season 6 Carter is wearing a new jacket...Warning: contains some major Carter whumpage, but NO character death...(except for Daisy, of course...) I promise I will dust off our sweet Carter, give 'im a kiss, and send 'im back to play good as new! I own nothing except my dog.
1. Meet Daisy

Chapter One—Meet Daisy…

"Carter, I'm tellin' you, we've got several flyer's jackets down in the tunnel that'd fit you perfectly. I know one of 'em's almost brand new. That sergeant that came through just last month told me 'e'd bought it right before 'e got captured." Newkirk was getting frustrated with his friend's stubborn attachment to his "lucky" jacket. "Mate, that thing you're wearin's about to fall apart. You walk around in that, and nobody knows whether it's sunny or snowin' outside, the bloody thing's so scuffed up."

Sgt. Andrew Carter frowned. "Daisy's not that bad. She's nice and warm, and besides, she's comfortable. We've been through a lot together. I don't know why you care, anyway."

Newkirk, who had just dealt the cards for another endless round of gin, nearly dropped his cards as he burst out laughing. "Daisy? You named your jacket Daisy? Oi, ya really are crackers, mate!" The others around the table joined in the laughter, until Andrew threw his cards down and stood up. "Well, gee, I mean if a guy can't wear what he wants, what's that all about? Nobody picks on LeBeau for wearing the same old scarf and hat all the time, do they? So why pick on me about Daisy? I mean…BOY!" With that, Carter stormed away from his astonished friends and took himself down into the tunnel…most likely to sulk a bit before heading into his Tunnel Three lab.

Kinch and LeBeau stared at Newkirk in surprise for a moment. Newkirk himself was staring at the bunk leading to the tunnels. Before anyone had a chance to speak, Col. Hogan stepped out from his quarters. "What's with all the noise out here, fellas?"

Newkirk turned to Hogan. "Well, sir, I think I managed to 'urt me mate's feelin's."

Hogan, as was his custom, took a quick look around, assessed things and turned to Newkirk. "Since I need Carter to put all his concentration into getting those special explosives ready for the mission tomorrow night, I would suggest you go find him and straighten things out. The last thing we need is for him to get distracted and blow himself and the rest of us up." He smiled briefly to show he was only half-kidding and returned to the paperwork he had been trying to catch up on all evening.

"Blimey," Newkirk breathed, "I forgot about the bloody explosives!" He headed quickly for the tunnel entrance.

Newkirk found Carter in his lab. Newkirk watched from the entrance; fascinated, as Carter intently watched something bubbling in a couple of test tubes, while carefully considering the green contents of a third tube in his left hand. With his right, he picked up a small vial of some sort of crystals and added them slowly to the liquid in the tube in his other hand. Newkirk was intrigued by the soft sizzling sound the mixture made.

Without looking at him, Carter told him, "Don't come in here." His voice was completely neutral. There was no trace of anger or stress. This was Andrew Carter completely in his element. Newkirk marveled at the change that always came over Andrew whenever he stepped into his lab…this was the one place, other than when actually setting his explosives or pyrotechnics, where he truly seemed at home. A small voice in Newkirk's head sounded, _Bit scary, that._ True, there were times that things exploded in the lab when they shouldn't, but as Carter had explained it, that was just the way it went when he didn't have the proper equipment to get all the measurements exactly right. When Newkirk reminded him he had blown up half his high school, Carter had grinned and told him he was a) exaggerating and b) he'd sort of done it on purpose.

That was when Newkirk noticed something else…Carter was not wearing Daisy. He usually didn't wear his gloves, in the lab, so that was not unusual, but he almost always wore his jacket or his heavy coveralls. He was unusually dressed in just his lighter uniform. He noticed Daisy was carelessly tossed on the floor at Andrew's feet, something Andrew _never_ did…almost as if he were ashamed of the jacket. The odd thing was, Andrew was suddenly sweating profusely. And that was Newkirk realized something was wrong. Andrew's voice broke into his thoughts just then.

"Peter. Go back to the barracks NOW."

"What's wrong, Andrew? Can I help?"

And then Andrew roared 'GO BACK! RUN, NEWKIRK—THAT'S AN ORDER!"

Startled, unthinkingly, Peter obeyed, running towards the barracks ladder. He expected one of Andrew's spectacular explosions, but one never came. What did come was a sort of loud popping sound and a very bright silvery-blue flash. And then Andrew screamed.

His heart pounding, Peter ran back to the lab, which was in shambles. He had eyes only for his friend as he heard footsteps pounding down the tunnel. Andrew was huddled on the floor. His jacket, hastily pulled over him as he went down, was a smoking ruin, full of melted glass and burning chemicals.

~TBC~


	2. Daisy's Last Stand

Chapter Two—Daisy's Last Stand

Carefully, Newkirk and the others pulled the jacket off their friend. They were all appalled at the damage to his back and arms. His shirt was going to have to be cut away, but it was also obvious that if not for his "lucky jacket," the young sergeant would likely have been killed instantly. Baker had already gone for Sgt. Wilson, and they waited for him before doing anything more. Unfortunately, Carter was conscious and in a great deal of pain. He was also very aware of his situation.

"Col. Hogan…" Hogan bent close to the young man. "Take it easy, Carter. You'll be okay."

Andrew painfully shook his head. "No sulfa…Won't help. Only one way to heal…You have to cut out all the burnt-on junk then use penicillin…Only way to counteract slag and chemicals under skin…Otherwise it will look like it heals, but underneath it will keep burning and getting infected and kill me." * Hogan flinched at the calm recitation.

As Carter fell back, gasping, Sgt. Wilson arrived, and Hogan relayed everything Andrew had told him. Wilson then checked Carter out quickly in the tunnel. He quickly concurred and determined the young man did not have a concussion, and sedated him so that he could be moved and his wounds treated.

It was decided that, though Carter had some abrasions to his chest and abdomen, they were nowhere near as severe as his back, so the easiest way to get the unconscious man through the tunnels to the infirmary was to simply place him face-down on one of the cots from the "guest quarters" and carry him there. Once they reached the ladder, they carefully handed him up, and gently placed him on one of the infirmary cots.

As Wilson and Hogan talked, the medic set about carefully cutting away Carter's shirt and further assessing his injuries. He also set up an i.v. to counteract shock. He was then ready to begin cleaning and debriding the wounds. Because of the nature of the injuries, debridement would be especially difficult and painful, but not beyond his skill. It would definitely not be pretty to watch. Not for the first time, he wished he had an assistant. Even under the best of circumstances, debridement was not a simple process, and four hands would have made it much faster and easier on the patient.

"Can you treat him in the infirmary, or should we ask to have him transferred to a hospital?" Hogan hated the idea of any of his men in a German hospital, but he knew this time there might not be a choice. He trusted Wilson to make the right decision.

Wilson ran his hand through his hair as he considered the situation.

"Well, I know penicillin is extremely difficult to get, because it's so hard to produce, but it is literally the only thing that will save his life. I'll need all they can send me. Along with that, I need massive amounts of sterile saline. I have enough saline for initial treatment, but if you can arrange with London for a drop as soon as possible, we can at least get started. I will definitely need more sheets, since I need to drape him and pour the saline over him. You might talk to London about that. I know sheets can be kind of a challenge.

Pain relief and sedation is also going to be an issue. I'll need more morphine, sedatives, i.v.'s, and syringes. I think I should be able to treat him in the infirmary. However, due to the fact he is obviously injured and not ill, you may have difficulty explaining things to the Kommandant."

Hogan nodded impatiently. "We'll deal with that later. Make a list for Kinch of everything you need, and he'll get it out to London right away." Wilson quickly did so, and Kinch headed to his radio to send for the urgently needed supplies.

Sgt. Wilson chased everyone out of the infirmary, with a promise of an update on their friend as soon as he had one; except for Newkirk, who absolutely refused to leave Carter. Hogan finally gave in to his pleas to be allowed to stay, although neither of the other two men was sure it was a good idea. Wilson finally relented only after Newkirk had assured him he understood that the next couple of hours were not going to be pleasant, and that he wouldn't argue if Wilson asked him to leave. Hogan patted Newkirk on the shoulder, cast one more worried glance at his youngest team member, and left through the tunnel exit.

~TBC~

A/N: * This is very true…especially for what is known as serious slag (metal) injuries in welding, but glass and other contaminants in an explosion would be just as potentially deadly. I have done some research, and other welders have reported slag burns where they have not had them treated with antibiotics and have gotten serious infections and have temporarily lost the use of their arms, nearly lost their hands and/or even their lives…

Special Note:

Thanks to the insightful review about penicillin by my friend snooky-9093, I corrected a couple of things in this chapter regarding penicillin and allergies. Because penicillin was not widely used, allergies would not likely have been known, so my two allergic POW's are officially AWOL.

Although penicillin was not in general military use at the time of my story, I believe it would have been sent by London because Carter was a very valuable member of Papa Bear's team, which was absolutely vital to the war effort. Hence, Wilson's comments have been changed to reflect the difficulty in getting the penicillin. My research has shown that sources of the drug were definitely available to London at the time, although perhaps not American penicillin. If anyone is interested in my research, please PM me.

Thanks goes to my research assistant, my daughter, Hilary Owens, CNA


	3. A Mission and Nurse Newkirk

Chapter Three—A Mission and Nurse Newkirk

Back in Barracks Two, a somber group sat silently around the central table. LeBeau had made coffee for everyone. Hogan was the one who finally broke the silence. "Well, I suppose, we need to come up with something to tell Klink. Any ideas?" LeBeau started to say something just as the tell-tale tapping came from the corner bunk, and Kinch entered the room. Hogan looked at the radioman expectantly. "So?"

Kinch smiled tightly. "London says they can do the drop tomorrow night. They'll have everything Wilson asked for. Weather looks okay."

Everyone in the room breathed a sigh of relief. "Also, they're including the extra coffee you asked about and uumm, some hot chocolate, 'cause they know Carter likes it, and they send best wishes to Carter and to let them know how he is, Sir. They, uhh, also said the mission can, umm, wait till he's better; well…nobody else knows how to make those particular explosives, so-" Kinch broke off miserably.

Hogan nodded grimly and silence fell over the group again as LeBeau handed Kinch a cup of coffee as he took a seat with his friends. Never had the absence of Carter's constant chatter been as telling as it was as they waited for word from the infirmary. No one even had the heart to play cards. LeBeau finally brought up the topic they had been discussing before Kinch had come up from the radio.

"About what to tell _le Kommandant_ , what if we stage a little accident for Andre? Say, maybe under one of the cars? _Cela lui donnerait une excuse pour être blessé_." The others looked at him blankly, and he quickly realized that as he often did when he was agitated, he had slipped back into speaking French. He sighed. "I said 'This would give him an excuse for being injured.' Klink's car is in the motor pool, again, is it not?"

Hogan rubbed his chin thoughtfully, and stared off into space for a few moments. "LeBeau, you just may have earned yourself a promotion. That's a great idea! Now we just have to put it all together before tomorrow morning, and stage it just before roll call. I know Klink wants his car early tomorrow, so this shouldn't be all that hard to pull off."

The men's spirts begin to rise as they watched their commander's familiar mannerisms materialize as the mission began to take shape. He seemed to radiate energy as he began his familiar pacing around the room.

"LeBeau and Kinch, how about you guys go down and put together a dummy about the same size as Carter? Whatever you do, don't use one of the good flight jackets. See if you can find an old one. It doesn't have to be all that great. With any luck, we'll be able to keep anyone from getting close before we can get "Carter" into the infirmary. Baker, go down into the lab and see if Carter's cap survived. If not, we'll have to find another one. Be careful in there." Baker nodded solemnly.

Everyone swung into action, and Hogan was glad for the distraction. Within a remarkably short time, the dummy had been created, and LeBeau was creating a face for their newest decoy. They had all been shaken when Baker had reported that Carter's cap was too full of slag fragments to use. How the sergeant had survived was still beyond any of them. He apparently had a guardian angel that he kept working overtime. Baker had found a suitable replacement and given it to Louis.

Hogan had just finalized the details of the morning mission, and the others had come back up after finishing the dummy. The guys were just kind of hanging around quietly. About that time, there were several taps on the bunk, and Newkirk came up through the bunk entrance. His face was ashen, and he looked nearly ready to fall over from exhaustion. He staggered and would have fallen on his way to the table if Kinch hadn't caught him. With shaking hands, he immediately lit a cigarette, and took a deep drag on it before he even attempted to speak. Hogan asked the dreaded question. "How is he?"

"Wilson thinks 'e'll make it. But it's gonna be rough, guv. I'll be 'onest, mates." He paused as his bloodshot eyes took in all the men around him. "I'm glad I stayed, but I wish I'd been anyplace else the last cuppla 'ours. I kinda ended up 'elpin' Wilson. Cor! It was the worst thin' I ruddy ever seen. Did you chaps know Wilson was studyin' to be a doc when 'e got drafted? 'e was takin' some time off to 'elp 'is mum after 'is da died, an' the army got 'im! Poor bastard…still, good fer us, I expec'…"

He broke off reflectively as he stared absently at his cigarette, not even noticing the ash was burning dangerously close to his fingers. Hogan gently took the cigarette out of Newkirk's hand, and gave it to Kinch, who snuffed it out, while Hogan steered his exhausted corporal towards his bunk. Kinch and Hogan helped him change into his nightshirt and LeBeau removed his boots. None of them had any doubt their English corporal had done much more than just "kind of help" the medic. Hogan was determined to talk to Sgt. Wilson as soon as he could.

Suddenly, LeBeau noticed something, and he asked Newkirk to wait before getting into his bunk. He quickly got a bowl of water and a rag and came back to a confused Newkirk. Tamping down his normal revulsion, LeBeau kept his eyes firmly on his friend's face as he gently washed Peter's hands. There was still some of Carter's blood left, even after he had scrubbed over at the infirmary, and LeBeau's sharp vision had caught it, even in the dim light.

Realizing what was happening; Peter gasped suddenly, and gazed at his friend. "Ah, Louis…"

LeBeau shook his head sharply, " _Non, mon ami, ce n'est rien_. It is nothing."

Gentle hands guided Newkirk to his bunk, as Hogan removed the bloody rag and the water.

LeBeau smiled a bit, " _Sleep, Pierre_."

Hogan had disposed of the water, and rinsed out the rag. He looked over at Louis, who was busy gathering up the coffee cups and taking them to the sink. He noted the slightly sick expression on the little Frenchman's face. "You okay?"

LeBeau straightened his posture and threw his commanding officer a look of supreme irritation. "And why wouldn't I be?"

Hogan smiled. "Oh, no special reason. Good night, Corporal."

Louis nodded and gave a small smile back. "Good night, _mon Colonel_."

~TBC~


	4. Mission Accomplished!

Chapter Four—Mission Accomplished

The team was out two hours earlier than usual. They had obtained permission to be in the Motor Pool early to make sure Kommandant Klink's car would be ready for his early-morning trip to Hammelburg. Klink expected to leave immediately after roll-call, and the prisoners were eager to make sure everything was in place to stage their "accident." Of course, this is not at all how they put things to the guards in the motor pool. Besides, the head guard was quite accommodating. He made a bit extra over his paycheck by conveniently looking the other way. The prisoners slipped him a few marks every time they used one of the camp vehicles, which kept him content.

They had the car actually ready to go just before roll call. The car was jacked up with the front left tire fully off the ground. The effigy of Carter was in place underneath the car. They had managed this by having Newkirk engage the guards in a bit of a diversion plying them with card tricks. Kinch and LeBeau slipped the dummy underneath the car face-down and everything was ready. Wilson was ready with a stretcher just inside the infirmary door. Kommandant Klink was one who never liked to get too close to a seriously injured prisoner, and this was something they were counting on this time. If Hogan could convince Klink that Wilson could handle the injured prisoner without the Kommandant insisting on a hospital trip, they would be all right. Hogan was fairly certain he could handle Klink. He usually could.

All too soon, Schultz came out to rouse the other prisoners for roll call, and the plan was set into motion. As Kinch turned to put the tire on the car, the jack "slipped" and the car fell on the hapless Sgt. Carter. Hogan's men panicked and Hogan himself yelled to Schultz to go and get Wilson. In all the confusion, things worked out even better than they had planned, as none of the guards even thought to go and get Kommandant Klink until after Carter had been transferred to the infirmary. No one thought to ask why Carter was face-down under the car (so nobody could clearly see his face when they pulled him out from under the car, of course!) All in all, the team realized, this mission was shot full of luck from beginning to end. The rest was all up to Carter, Wilson, and God.

~HH~

Roll call was a hurried affair that morning. All the men were concerned about Carter, since most of them had no idea about what had actually happened, and thought he really had been injured by the car. Klink was upset, as he had a soft spot for the young sergeant, and truly did care about the men he was responsible for in the camp. Although the war made them enemies, he did not necessarily agree with all the war stood for either. But to admit this would mean his instant death. He had once told Hogan he would love to see America…he wondered what Hogan would think of him if he realized how badly he wished for that? He shook off this impossible thought as he checked with the motor pool about another car to take to Hammelburg.

After assurances it would be ready within the hour, Klink decided to stop by the infirmary. He stepped inside, and gasped at what he saw. In the short time since the accident, Carter's back had been covered in bandages, and the young man was unconscious. His arm also seemed to be similarly covered. Sgt. Wilson came over to Klink. "Sir. He is badly hurt, but I have everything here I need to help him."

"Should he be transferred to a hospital?"

"Of course, it is your decision, sir, but I believe that he would be better off here. You understand how it could go for an American prisoner, sir."

Hogan stepped into the room behind the Kommandant and saluted. The two men stepped outside the infirmary, so that Wilson could get on caring for Carter.

"Kommandant, if you send him to the hospital, the Gestapo could get involved, and who knows will happen after that. After all, prisoners aren't supposed to be working in the Motor Pool, are they?"

Klink's eyes went wide. "But you weren't working on the car in the Motor Pool. You had it parked over by the Barracks. It was there when I came out."

"Of course, we did. But still, the tools were from the Motor Pool. So, same thing applies. Either way, the Gestapo won't be very happy with you. But if you just leave Carter here with Sgt. Wilson unless he absolutely need to go to the hospital, then the Gestapo doesn't have to know a thing about you breaking the rules, sir. Right?" Hogan saluted the other Colonel.

Klink had his typical confused, yet rather satisfied scowl on his face as he automatically saluted. "Right, Hogan!"

As Hogan turned smugly away, the wheels suddenly began to grind again and Klink whirled around. "HOOO-GAAAAN!" But Klink was shaking his fist and shouting—at empty space…

~HH~

For his part, Hogan needed to talk to Wilson about what had happened with Newkirk the night before. The corporal had been reluctant to talk to any of them about the experience, but it was obvious it was still weighing on his mind. He had requested that he be allowed to return to the infirmary to sit with his friend again this afternoon, but Hogan wanted to talk to Wilson first. After Klink had stormed back to his office, Hogan headed back into the infirmary.

"Hi, Joe. How's he doing?"

"Well, he's holding on. He's in a lot of pain, and I have him sedated at the moment. I did a second debridement this morning. It was very difficult, and I had to restrain him. I don't like to do that, because, especially for prisoners, restraints can be very traumatic, but I had no choice in this case."

"Why did you have to restrain him?"

The medic regarded his commanding officer sadly. "I have a feeling this is just why you came to talk to me, Colonel. In Carter's case, there will have to be a number of debridement sessions. I needed a second pair of hands last night when Newkirk was here. I didn't ask. He volunteered. I started to restrain Carter to do the initial debridement, and Newkirk wouldn't let me. I tried to talk him out of it, but he wouldn't hear of it. Colonel, debridement, even under sedation, is painful and godawful nasty at best. Slag burns are the worst. They can burn deep and can be hard to get at. These particular ones involved both melted glass and metal. Newkirk held on to Carter the whole time. He never let go once. He talked to him and helped him not to panic, even when the sedation started wearing off, and I couldn't give him any more. Sir—" Here Wilson's voice broke, and Hogan put his hand gently on the medic's shoulder until he regained his composure. Wilson drew in a deep breath and continued. "Newkirk has a damned good voice. Did you know that?"

Hogan cocked his head in surprise. "I know he sings in the 'Glee Club' and he was a magician and entertainer, but…"

Wilson shook his head solemnly. "No sir. I mean he can really _sing_. He knelt by Andrew's cot, held down his arms that whole time. I did have to tie his legs down. No choice. But as that sedation was wearing off, and I was finishing what I had to do, Newkirk switched from talking to him to singing—really singing to him. Songs I haven't heard since I was a kid…songs I wouldn't have thought he'd even know."

Hogan was curious. "Like what, Joe?"

There was an odd light in his eyes as Joe smiled. "Well, 'Amazing Grace' for one…and 'Ave Maria' for another! I have no idea where he dug that one up at, but it did the trick, and Andrew remained calm the whole time he was singing. Sir, I don't know what your beliefs are, but it was spine-tingling, it was that beautiful."

Hogan had to admit he was a bit skeptical, but he also wasn't going to argue with the medic. He had heard Newkirk sing, and he knew the corporal's whiskey baritone was pleasant, but nothing to really write home about. Of course, like his many other talents, it was possible he was hiding his true ability…but why would he? No, Hogan preferred to think Wilson was probably just reading more into the moment than had truly been there.

In his drowsy, drifting state, Andrew Carter smiled. He knew exactly what had happened. He remembered very clearly the singing. He knew it was his best friend singing to him. He knew well that Peter could sing those songs…that he had learned them as a kid…before the bad stuff happened with his father. Peter had told him all about it; how he had sung in church all the time. How Peter had loved it…until he'd turned 14, and the bad stuff happened, and his dad had kicked him out; and he'd found a new family at the circus…and he forgot how to sing—until he met a Yank named Carter.

~TBC~


	5. Awake

Chapter Five—Awake

Carter was riding a haze of pain. Dimly he heard a familiar voice, and he reached for it.

"'Ang on mate. I'm right here. I've got ya. 'old on tight, Andrew…that's it, lad."

Searing pain shot through his back, and he cried out, even as full consciousness suddenly hit him. Nausea and dizziness battled with the pain for dominance for a few moments. He closed his eyes until he was finally able to take a few deep breaths and settle himself a bit.

He opened his eyes, and was completely confused. He was sure he was laying face-down, and yet he was staring straight into the concerned eyes of his best friend, Peter Newkirk. Peter smiled at him, "No mate, you're not barmy. I'm bunkin' on the floor. You're on a special cot Kinch an' Wilson rigged. Your head is braced, an' there's a place for you face so you can see through to the floor, to make it easier on you. You're gonna have to be here for a while, and you still have a lot of medical stuff going on, so we decided to at least make you as comfortable as we could. Your legs are restrained at the moment, so don't let that bother you. Ol' Wilson thinks it's best you don't move around much."

It was at that point Carter realized his left arm was completely wrapped in thick bandages, like a mummy's—clear over his fingers. He was relieved to see that he seemed to still have all four fingers and his thumb on that hand. His right arm had thick bandages on his upper arm, but his forearm and hand were free, except for the i.v. running into his elbow. His elbow was splinted to keep the i.v. in place; and he remembered holding tight to Peter's hand as he was waking up.

A new voice startled him slightly, as Sgt. Wilson sat down on the floor next to his cot.

"Good morning, Andrew. How are you feeling?"

Without a trace of irony (considering no one had even mentioned the cover story to him) Carter sighed deeply and replied, "Like I've been run-over by a truck." Newkirk grinned in spite of himself as he slid out from under the cot, stretched his tired muscles and then switched positions so that he was now sitting next to Andrew on the floor, leaning his elbows on his knees.

Wilson asked Carter, "What's the last thing you remember?"

Carter blinked a few times and frowned. He was quiet for a few moments. Finally he said, "The last clear memory is of turning into tunnel 3 heading for my lab. After that everything is all mixed up, like a crazy dream. Kind of like being inside a carnival funhouse, only it's a scary one where you can't find the exit. I hate funhouses… Carter's voice trailed away quietly, and the other two looked at him curiously.

"Why, Carter?" asked Newkirk

"Because when I was about six a couple of my older cousins lost me inside a funhouse one time. It wasn't really their fault; they didn't do it on purpose. It just happened. Anyway, it took me forever to find my way out, and by that time we got separated. They had decided to check the last ride we had gone on, and I went the other way, and well, since they decided not to tell anyone so they wouldn't get in trouble, I had to fend for myself for several hours. Finally, my parents came to pick us all up, and my cousins had to admit what happened."

Typically, Carter got distracted by a stray thought and ended his story right there.

Wilson rolled his eyes as Newkirk smirked at the look on the medic's face. Exasperated, Wilson said, "Well, what happened?"

"Hmmm? Oh, well, by that time, I had found the guy selling fireworks and firecrackers, and because he was so busy, I was helping him in his booth."

"You were helping sell fireworks at six years old?" Wilson said with a skeptical expression.

Newkirk held up a hand in a "wait" gesture. He lay on his back so he could look directly up at Carter. A huge grin lit his face as he beamed up at his best mate. "Let me guess. You weren't sellin' 'em—you were makin' 'em!"

Carter's slightly indignant expression as he scoffed was even more amusing. "Of course I was. Besides, I made a penny for every ten firecrackers I made. It was a good deal!"

Wilson shook his head. "Bet your parents were upset with the fireworks man over that."

"Nah, they were used to it. I already had my own shed for a lab, since I had blown up the garage twice already…"

He yawned, and grimaced in pain, as various parts of his body were making themselves known. Talking had distracted him from the pain and exhaustion, but unfortunately, he did not realize he was nowhere near out of the woods yet. Wilson had not yet told him of the many debridement sessions he would still need to undergo, the current condition of his back, nor of the fact that the chances of infection were still extremely high.

Wilson came over and chased Newkirk out of the Infirmary for a while, telling him to go and get a meal and clean up, since Carter had fallen back asleep. Newkirk reluctantly did so, telling the medic he would return as soon as he could.

Wilson was not concerned about Carter not remembering much about the accident, as generally, with time; his mind would sort itself out. He also knew that his friends would help him to talk about it, especially Newkirk and Col. Hogan.

Speaking of the colonel, Wilson turned in time to see his commanding officer make his way through the trap door in the infirmary floor. Concern darkened his brown eyes as he took in his medic's haggard appearance. "How's Carter?"

"Holding on at the moment. He's talking, which is good, but I don't want him tiring himself. There are a couple of things bothering me. His fever is still higher than I would like. I was hoping it would start going down with the antibiotics. Any word on the drop from London?"

"It's scheduled for tonight. You should have everything you need. You said there were a couple of things. What else?"

Here Wilson sighed deeply. "I am out of morphine. I have to do another debridement. I cannot wait for the drop, or infection will surely set in, and that _will_ kill him. He is conscious, unlike the other two times. Do you see the problem, sir?" Wilson spoke quietly. Of course he knew Hogan saw the problem.

For his part, Hogan paled as he thought of the descriptions he had heard from both Newkirk and Wilson of what just _they_ had been through, let alone what it had been like for an _unconscious_ Carter.

"I can get ahold of some schnapps from Klink. That would dull the pain some."

"It would, but it would also cause more bleeding. Most likely what will happen is he will pass out on his own. I'm not sure what his pain tolerance level actually is, as I've never worked with him on something this serious. I do know that stitches don't seem to particularly bother him. That scares me, since it indicates a high tolerance. Also, because of his constant exposure to danger, very little actually seems to scare him, regardless of the act he puts on around the rest of you.

Now, both of those things may work in our favor at first. He will most likely be calm going into the procedure, and even remain that way for a while. However, as time goes on and things get more intense, he will have to remain completely still; while the pain will become intolerable. I won't be able to stop once I get started. I will have to restrain him, as I did before; only this time, I will restrain his arms as well, although it won't be good for his injured arm. I have no choice in this case. I'm hoping he'll pass out before he does too much damage to his arm."

Unhappily, he met Hogan's eyes, "Also, I cannot do this alone this time. With him awake, I will need two assistants. I need someone to help me monitor his breathing and heart rate. I also will need someone to help with the saline rinsing of the wounds. The biggest problem is there are a lot of areas to work on and therefore, a definite increase in the chances for an infection."

"So the question becomes, hold off and kill him for sure, or do this, and possibly kill him?"

The medic nodded unhappily. Hogan canted his head to one side for a moment as he often did while thinking. "There's no point in not giving Andrew a chance, Joe. You already know Newkirk will want to help. He's already bunking with him, so you can show him how to watch Andrew's breathing and heart. I'll stay and work with you. I've pulled more bullets out of my men's hides than I care to remember. Kinch and LeBeau can handle the drop, and Baker can monitor the radio. That way, Newkirk can stay with Carter, and I can keep an eye on things around here tonight."

Wilson nodded, agreeing with the plan, and went to start preparing what he needed for the afternoon. Hogan had asked him to wait to tell Carter about the procedure until he and Newkirk got back. He felt it might make things easier on Carter to have his best friend with him when he was told about what was about to happen. As Hogan made his way through the tunnel to Barracks 2, he sent up a fervent prayer. "Please, Dear God, he's a good kid, and he's in for a really rough time. Get him through it. Get us _all_ through it."

~TBC~

A/N: I will get the notes for the next chapter over with now. Yes, I have researched debridement; no, it is not pretty; yes, the next chapter _will_ get graphic. In other words, it's gonna get real. Expect icky details, pain and strong language. (No F-bombs, I promise!) However, there is going to be some really special stuff you probably won't want to miss, too! Just sayin'. ;)


	6. Into the Valley

Chapter Six—Into the Valley

(Please Note: Due to chapter length, the graphic stuff starts in Chapter 7)

Hogan had addressed the problem of what to tell Klink about the procedure and what Wilson was about to do…for once, he told the truth. Not about how the injury happened, but about the treatment, and what was about to happen. As Hogan had known he would, Klink showed little outward emotion during his explanation, but his eyes told a completely different story. Carter had a way of getting under the skin of all but the most hard-hearted of his enemies.

Even General Burkhalter had enquired about Carter earlier in the day, and not only wished him well; but also promised to keep Major Hochstetter away from the camp until after Carter's recovery. Klink had dared to ask how this would be accomplished, and General Burkhalter, in a rare display of humor, had suggested to Berlin that the Third Reich would benefit from Hochstetter touring all the various Stalags in Germany to deliver a series of lectures on efficiency and etiquette to the guards. Klink and Hogan were both rather proud of Burkhalter for this particular coup!

Less than two hours later found all the core team gathered in the infirmary. Wilson had gone to Barracks Two and explained the basics of what would happen to the men there. He wanted the men closest to Carter see him before the procedure was explained to the young sergeant; but he wanted them to have a chance to absorb the news first. It was not easy for anyone, and Carter didn't need the excess stress. Hogan alone realized why the team was there. He knew Wilson was allowing them to see Carter in case he didn't survive.

Carter had awakened shortly before the men came up through the tunnel. He was in considerably more pain now, as the morphine had worn off. He and Newkirk were talking quietly, as they had done many times before. The other men in the camp would have probably been surprised by the type of conversations Carter and Newkirk had when no one else was around. They talked mostly of their childhood, and some things they had in common. This was how Carter had found out that both of them had grown up singing in children's and youth church choirs.

It had taken months, but Carter had finally persuaded Newkirk to sing a couple of the songs from his childhood for him, and Carter had been captivated. In turn, Newkirk was amazed by how clear and good Andrew's voice was. Of the team, other than Kinch, they were the two who spent the most time in the tunnels, so they found plenty of time to indulge in a pass time they both were sure would have gotten them plenty of ribbing had anyone found out about it.

When Newkirk was sewing, Carter often helped him, and they would sing the songs they remembered, and sometimes come up with new ones, or re-arrange old ones to suit them. The only other person who knew about it was Olsen, who had a guitar, which he stored under his bunk, and was sworn to secrecy. He would sometimes join some of their sessions, and turned out to have a pretty fair tenor, himself. Personally, Olsen felt the other two should have shared their talent with the others, but he could never persuade them, so he simply enjoyed their secret jam sessions and went quietly about his business.

Now the men gathered quietly, none of them quite able to believe what was happening to their comrade. Peter Newkirk was lying on his back on a makeshift bed underneath Andrew Carter's high-slung specialized cot. He was watching Carter carefully, and both men were talking quietly. Carter was gripping Newkirk's hand tightly. They heard a bit of the conversation just before Newkirk realized they were there.

"…I can't help it, Peter, I _am_ scared. It hurts awful bad and I don't think I can take much more…"

"I know, mate, I know. I'll be right here. Try not to think about it. I—"

Newkirk, his eyes shining with unshed tears, turned his head and saw the men.

"Andrew, some of the boys are 'ere to see you. 'Old on, mate." He extracted his hand from Carter's carefully and slid out from under the cot. He smiled at Carter, "Back in a tic."

He stood up and turned to face them, the smile sliding from his normally handsome features the moment he was facing away from the cot. His friends were taken aback by how haggard he had become in only the past 36 hours. In the next moment, he shrugged it off and smiled slightly. Wilson walked over to them, and took control of the conversation, speaking in low, calm tones.

"Remember what I said. Keep it short and light. No saying anything to upset him. If you think you can't handle it, just wait over here. He probably won't remember afterwards, anyway. But I need him calm going in. If you want one of us with you, that's fine. If not, that's fine, too. Col. Hogan, since you're staying, you'll be able to talk to him later. Hogan nodded, still unable to trust his voice after hearing the conversation at the cot. Things were just too real right now.

Wilson looked around at the others. "Who wants to go first?"

Newkirk spoke up then. "Don't feel awkward about laying underneath the cot…that's easiest for him. It's easier for you to kneel, but then he strains to try to look at you. I think it hurts his back, but he won't say anything." Wilson frowned, his eyebrows nearly hiding his eyes, and Newkirk simply shrugged at him.

Kinch shrugged. "I will, I guess. I'm okay on my own." He took a deep breath, stepped over towards the cot, canted his head at it for a moment, considering. He then removed his boots, to give himself a little sliding ability, and gracefully slid underneath the cot. Much to Carter's delight, Kinch's mustache and cheesy grin were soon directly beneath him, and the first thing out of Kinch's mouth was,

"Hey, Goldbricker! Some guys will do anything to get out of goin' to work. Where do I sign up, ya lazy bastard?" The comment was so unexpected that Carter broke up laughing, and then winced.

"Ow, Kinch," Carter giggled, "don't do that!"

Kinch looked briefly concerned, but also happy he had made his friend smile.

"Look, when you get outta here, you and me are gonna sneak outta this joint and go find us a coupla girls and go dancing, okay? We'll let the Colonel babysit the radio for once. Baker said to say, hi, but he's on radio duty."

Carter grew serious, and smiled quietly, his eyes veiled, the way they were when he knew someone was trying to pull something on him. Kinch saw it, knew it, and his heart broke. "Sure, Kinch. We'll do it for sure." Carter shut his eyes tightly for a moment, drawing a deep breath as he nodded. When he opened them again, he smiled brightly, and nodded again. "Dibs on the redhead."

Kinch nodded quickly. He slid out from under the bunk without another word, grabbing his boots. He managed to make it down the ladder before he lost his lunch. He headed straight for his bunk, and stayed there the rest of the afternoon.

LeBeau let Olsen and Foster go next, because he wasn't sure he could face his friend. He was terrified. Hogan sensed this, and put his arm around the frightened corporal. "You know, Carter won't be upset with you if you don't go over there." They watched their other two teammates spend some time with Carter.

"But, Mon Colonel, I do not want Andre' to think that I do not care what is happening to him. I do care, very much."

"Of course you do, Louis. He knows that, we all do. He also knows that, of all of us, you are the one who feels things the most deeply. You are the first one to care for any of us if we get sick or hurt. You've taken care of Andrew more times than I can count. I think you're having a hard time going over there because you think there's nothing you can do this time." He turned the smaller man to face him. "But LeBeau, you are so wrong. Carter needs you now more than ever." From the corporal's next words, Hogan knew he had been right about what was bothering LeBeau.

"What can I do for him that Sgt. Wilson is not already doing for him?"

"You can be his friend."

LeBeau blinked at Hogan a couple of times, nodded, and then smiled. " _Oui. Que je suis, et que je serai. Merci, mon ami._ " (Yes. I am, and I will be. Thank you, my friend.)

As Olsen and Foster stepped back to the group, Wilson motioned to LeBeau. He also removed his boots and took his place under the cot. He could see that Andre' was tiring, so he decided to keep his time short and sweet.

"Andre'," he looked up at his friend and smiled. "We must stop meeting like this, _mon ami_. People will begin to talk."

Carter rolled his eyes and snickered softly. "Hi, Louis."

"I am going to make you a feast fit for a king when you get out of here. Anything you like. I will find it somehow! What would you most like?"

"Oh, Louis, you always said you would never make what I most want, and besides, even Colonel Hogan couldn't get them, anyway."

"What, Andre? For you, I will make anything!"

Carter closed his eyes dreamily for a moment, and then looked at his friend. "Barbequed hot dogs!"

LeBeau's eyes got big, and crossed slightly. He then looked Carter in the eye, and nodded.

"For you…I will do it!"

"But how? There aren't any hot dogs in camp! There's none anywhere around, are there?"

"You leave it to LeBeau. You just get well, mon ami!"

Andrew nodded, closing his eyes, the pain overwhelming him again. LeBeau said nothing, but simply placed his hand on his friend's arm for a few minutes.

Newkirk picked up on the silence at the cot and watched the two. He signaled to Wilson, who then came over, and motioned to LeBeau.

"I must go, Andre'. I will see you soon." He regarded his friend's closed eyes sadly, wondering silently if he would ever see him again. He slid from under the bunk, and headed for the trapdoor, the last to leave.

Wilson turned to Hogan and Newkirk, "Okay, it's time. Let's go talk to Carter."

~TBC~


	7. If There's a Hell

Chapter Seven—If There's A Hell…

Newkirk slid under the cot, wearing the stethoscope Wilson had shown him how to use, and took Carter's hand, as Hogan and Wilson knelt down next down next to them. " 'ow ya doin', mate?"

"Not so good, Peter. What's happening? Why were they all here? I'm in trouble, right?"

Newkirk never took his eyes off his friend as Hogan spoke.

"They came to see you, Carter, because Wilson has to do another debridement, and there's no more morphine. It's gonna be really hard on you, but it has to be done, or things will be worse. We, me and Newkirk, will be right here for you the whole time. Wilson is gonna have to tie both your arms. Now that's gonna hurt, Andrew, but we have to keep you as still as possible. Newkirk is gonna be right down there, helping you through it, and I'm gonna be up here, helping Wilson. You can help by staying as calm as you can. Do you understand, Andrew?"

Carter grimaced, and then smiled. "Hey, Peter, it must really be bad. Col. Hogan called me 'Andrew' twice in a row!" The others in the room nearly lost their composure at this bit of humor; but recovered quickly.

Wilson stepped over, and motioned Hogan into place as he moved the tray with the sterilized instruments in place. He then had Hogan help him gently restrain both of Carter's arms. Hogan and Wilson both felt the young man trembling as they did so, and Newkirk had a hard time getting Andrew to release the death grip he had on his hand. Once they begin to tie his injured arm, suddenly his resolve seemed to harden. Newkirk slid quickly from under the bed and went to scrub his hands one more time. He was back under the cot almost before Carter realized he had left, since he had closed his eyes while the other two were working with his arms.

"Peter, can you do something for me?"

"Sure, mate, anything."

As the two of them heard various noises above them, Carter tensed when he felt the iodine* being painted on his back. The fear returned to his eyes, basically the only thing he could move "Please, Peter. Sing to me."

Newkirk told him, "I will, mate. As much as I can. I have to help Wilson, but I will."

Carter nodded, and shut his eyes, trying to relax. He trusted his friends completely.

And, as Wilson began the preparations for Carter's ordeal, Peter began to sing to him. The first song he sang was one that Andrew had taught him from when he was a child. And they were surprised when Andrew picked up the melody and sang along. Hogan was stunned by what he was hearing; he obviously owed Wilson an apology for doubting him! The song was one that explained much about exactly who their sergeant was. When the two friends sang the simple, beautiful melody together in their smooth, breathtaking tenor and baritone, Wilson was grateful he hadn't started anything yet, because he was as mesmerized as Hogan. The two men sang the song through a couple of times, their voices blending and weaving through the song as they followed each other through the melody. Both Hogan and Wilson could feel Carter relax as they sang.

"'Tis the gift to be simple, 'tis the gift to be free

'Tis the gift to come down where we ought to be,

And when we find ourselves in the place just right,

'Twill be in the valley of love and delight.

When true simplicity is gain'd,

To bow and to bend we shan't be asham'd,

To turn, turn will be our delight,

Till by turning, turning we come 'round right."**

After a few moments, Newkirk broke the spell by smiling up at Carter. "You ready, mate?"

Carter took a shuddering breath. The fear was in his eyes, but his trembling had stopped. He nodded. "Yeah. Yes. Let's go."

"Newkirk, I want you to keep track of his heart rate and respiration for me. Let me know if he starts breathing too fast or if his rate goes dangerously high. It should stay within the range I showed you. I am also placing a bowl of cool water and strips of sheeting down by you. Sponge his face with those.

"All right, folks, this is it. Andrew, just try to breath as slowly and evenly as you can. In through your nose and out through your mouth. If you feel sick, let Peter know. He's got a basin for that, too. Don't worry about anything, okay?"

Andrew smirked, "Easy for you to say…just don't sneeze, okay?"

Wilson and Hogan both rolled their eyes, marveling at Carter. Only Newkirk saw the fear. He smiled at his best mate, willing his strength into him, and the nightmare began.

Wilson began by rinsing the small bits of loose debris that had worked its way to the surface with saline solution. Fortunately, he had just enough gauze and solution for this session. He had Hogan ready with gauze clamped into forceps to blot away excess blood as he worked. Hogan found the experience of wearing a surgical mask and gloves a bit disorienting at first. He was also having a difficult time concentrating, due to the reality of the wounds themselves. Hogan had never seen anything like the damage he was now observing up close. Carter himself remained calm and quiet for this part of the procedure.

Newkirk checked his friend's heartrate, which was strong and steady. "You're doin' great, mate."

Carter said nothing, his eyes closed, concentrating on breathing slowly and steadily.

Newkirk nudged Hogan, who saw Wilson pick up a pair of forceps. He looked down at Newkirk and nodded silently. Newkirk slid back into place, took a deep breath and braced himself.

At first, as the forceps dug into the surface of the wound in his upper back, Carter did nothing more than grit his teeth and flinch. He could hear the plinking sounds as the debris hit the pan, and feel the sharp sting of the bite of each probe. So far, it wasn't so bad…like when he had stepped on a wasp nest as a kid…it hurt, but he could handle it.

Wilson shook his head as he saw exactly what he was afraid of. Some of the tissue in the wound was becoming infected, and there were still bits of slag deep inside the wound. These would both have to be come out, either with the forceps, or be cut out with a surgeon's knife. He spoke quietly, but calmly. "Colonel, be ready with those sponges." Hogan nodded.

As the forceps bit deeper, Carter groaned. Newkirk checked his heartrate, which had gone higher, but was still well within acceptable range. Peter watched his friend's chest rise and fall. It was still regular and even, but he was beginning to sweat. Peter wiped Carter's face with a cool cloth and began talking to him, about anything he could think of…birds he had known, antics his brothers and sisters had pulled, news from his cousin Hugh in the army in training in Montana, anything.

Wilson began to cut the infection away, and Andrew shuddered. He could feel his control going. So could Peter. "It's okay, mate. It's okay."

"Shut up, Peter!" Carter ground out. "Just—oh, shit—SHUT UP!" He inhaled convulsively and tears began to fall. Newkirk fell silent, and simply let his friend cry. Occasionally, he wiped Carter's face, but other than that, he let his presence be a quiet comfort for a little while.

Wilson had to trim deeper into the edges of skin and other tissue, and he kept praying Carter would pass out, but it never happened. He flushed the area with more saline, and as he expected, Carter finally screamed. It was a primal, guttural sound of pure agony. Hogan paled, but blotted the wound as Wilson directed. The medic then placed sterile dressings into the wound. He looked up into Hogan's eyes. "Ready to move on?" Hogan blanched, but nodded grimly.

Wilson called down to Newkirk, "How is he?"

"His heartrate is up quite a bit, and his breathing is regular, but faster than I'd like."

"Is his heartrate still within range?"

"Yeah. It's around 140, though."

"Try to calm him if you can."

Newkirk closed his eyes, and began to sing again. He knew only one sort of song that might help Andrew, and though it hurt him to sing these songs, he pushed the memories of his father aside and began to sing, his voice strong and clear, the way it had been those many years ago, at St. Dunstan's***

"Nearer, my God, to thee, nearer to thee!  
E'en though it be a cross that raiseth me,  
Still all my song shall be,  
Nearer, my God, to thee;  
Nearer, my God, to thee, nearer to thee!"

The wound across the middle of his back was much larger and deeper. And with Carter on the razor's edge of his control as it was, the next hour was pure hell. This area was where most of the slag had hit him as he had gone down during the explosion. Although Wilson knew exactly what he was doing, the necessity of working without any kind of pain relief was taking its toll on them all.

Throughout, Newkirk wiped his mate's face as Andrew sweated, and screamed and cursed. Perhaps in another circumstance, the men may have found it odd, the sacred songs mixed with the increasing violence of Carter's impotent cursing. Instead, it was only heartbreaking. Newkirk himself, felt sure that he would never be able to sing "Nearer, my God to Thee," one of Andrew's favorites, ever again. But for now, he sang it over, and over again, almost as a mantra. Newkirk realized if there was a Hell on Earth, his best friend was in it.

By the time the debridement on his middle back was finished, Carter's voice was raspy, and he was exhausted. Worst of all, his resolve was destroyed. He was in tears again. "Peter, please, please! Make him stop. I can't take anymore! Please, tell him to stop."

Newkirk didn't know what to say. He glanced up at Hogan, who had seen Wilson shake his head briefly, as he was busy concentrating. As he was unable to see Carter, Hogan spoke to him, a bit louder than he normally might, to make sure he heard him.

"Carter, can you hear me?"

There was some sniffling, and then Carter drew a deep breath. "Yessir."

"Okay, then listen to me. There's still some more to do and Wilson can't stop now. I know it hurts like hell, but if he stops, the infection we're seeing up here is just gonna spread, get worse and kill you. Is that what you want?"

"No, sir."

"Okay. Now, Klink gave me a present for you, and I already asked Wilson about it. When we get you patched up here and you recover some, we have a bottle of Schnapps in the barracks…the good stuff."

"The Kommandant did that, sir? Boy, that was sure nice of him. He didn't have to do that."

"Just proves he has a heart in there somewhere." Hogan chuckled.

Wilson had continued his work the whole time Hogan had been distracting his sergeant, starting on the preliminary probing of the third area, his lower back, which fortunately was the least injured part of his back. The wounds were not as deep and the debridement did not take nearly as long, though it was still quite painful.

Half an hour later as he and Hogan drew the sterile strips of sheeting over Carter's back, they both drew deep sighs of relief. Wilson looked into Hogan's eyes. "I cannot believe the stubborn bastard never passed out," he growled as he began stripping off the bloody gloves.

Hogan smiled ruefully. "I can."

~TBC~

A/N: * Iodine was first used as a pre-operative skin disinfectant in 1908 by surgeon Antonio Grossich.

** Any posted lyrics have been researched and are _in the public domain_ , and are therefore allowed by FanFiction rules. Quoted lyrics to "Simple Gifts" are a traditional Shaker dancing song by Elder Joseph Brackett (1797-1882). Other lyrics have been added over the years, but as I do not know their provenance or status, I have chosen not to add them. When sung, these lyrics are very often sung in round form. Although I am not Shaker, (Indeed, sadly, there is only one small Shaker community left in the United States.) I learned this song very young, and have performed it numerous times with a close friend as part of a worship duo as a young adult. (The tune was used for "The Lord of the Dance.") There is a beautiful rendition of "The Lord of the Dance" by John McDermott on YouTube. "Nearer my God to Thee" was written by Sarah F. Adams in 1841.

***St. Dunstan's is the name of the oldest Anglican church in Stepney, having been established before 952 A.D. and still has a vibrant and active congregant today. It is located on Stepney High Street. Though much of Stepney was destroyed during the London Blitz, St. Dunstan's survived intact. I like to think Peter would have had something familiar to come home to in St. Dunstan's, which is why I chose it.


	8. The Shadow of Death

Chapter Eight—The Shadow of Death…

Three hours after the surgery, both Carter and Newkirk had fallen into an exhausted sleep. It was nearly time for Kinch and LeBeau to head to the drop point to bring in the supplies London was sending. As they had done a hundred times before, they carefully made their way up the ladder and out the stump entrance into the woods. They wore their black work clothes, and had dabbed their faces with shoe polish to further break up their profiles. Even Kinch did this, especially at night, to diffuse any light from his face.

They signaled and watched the plane as it flew over and dropped its precious cargo. They tracked the parachute, which landed in the field across from them. LeBeau leapt up to make a run for the footlocker, but Kinch pulled his eager teammate down. He whispered quickly, "Wait! I wanna get this stuff back to Carter, too, but we won't help him if we get caught!"

LeBeau looked sheepishly at his friend. "Oui, I know, it's just…"

Kinch put a hand on the smaller man's shoulder. "I know."

Quickly and carefully, they scanned the area. It was very quiet and peaceful. They nodded to each other and ran for the locker, carrying the packs and shovels they had brought to transfer the contents and then bury the footlocker.

Working like a well-oiled machine, they carefully unpacked the precious cargo into the packs. LeBeau paused once when he couldn't resist showing Kinch the extra carton of cigarettes that were included, with a notation that they were for Newkirk. Kinch chuckled. "London knows our Peter well!"

Though the ground was nearly frozen, they were able to hack out a deep enough hole to push the locker and parachute into it and then cover them with rocks and brush. They noted the location. Kinch would notify the underground, which would come and recover them. They would be useful for their purposes, and in war, nothing was ever wasted. This was SOP when they received items they wouldn't be carrying back to camp, but would be awkward if the Germans discovered them. Normally, they might keep the parachute for themselves, in order to provide extra silk and cord for disguises and other uses, but for now, they were in a hurry.

When they got back into the tunnel, they found a frantic Hogan and Wilson waiting for them. They headed directly to the Infirmary. On the way, Wilson told the others, "I'm glad you got back when you did. His fever has spiked dangerously high in just the short time since you left. Newkirk is doing his best to try to calm him, but he's delirious."

As they came up through the Infirmary tunnel entrance, a terrifying sight greeted them. A panicked Newkirk was desperately trying to restrain Carter, who was fighting him off and yelling incoherently, as his fever and pain were pushing him into delirium. The problem was, the delirium was also making Carter abnormally strong, and he was determined to escape the Infirmary.

He broke free and bolted. Everyone moved at the same time and managed to cut him off before he got to the tunnel entrance. Unfortunately, in order to do it, Kinch ended up tackling him, and LeBeau wound up squashed on the floor between the closed trapdoor and both struggling men. His indignant and pained squawk caused Kinch to roll off him, but still keep his arms as tightly around Carter as he dared. LeBeau immediately rolled to his right and grabbed for his friend's flailing legs. Newkirk dropped to the floor next to him and began talking to him, trying to calm him. Soon, Hogan, Kinch and LeBeau were able to carry the still struggling Carter over to his cot and lay him gently facedown.

Wilson was frantically searching through the packs of supplies. He came up with a syringe and a vial of morphine. He turned to Newkirk. "Hold onto him. I need his arm. I've got to get this into him."

As Newkirk struggled to hold Carter's arm still, he shook his head. He felt it first, and then they all watched in horror as Carter's body suddenly began to convulse. Newkirk looked at Wilson. "He's burnin' up! Do somethin'!"

Wilson turned to the others. "Snow, now…lots of it. Pack it around him. Newkirk, you stay. I need you." The others all rushed out to bring in whatever snow they could carry in the various containers Wilson handed them. While they were gone, Wilson had Newkirk help him wrap Carter in a sheet to protect his exposed skin from direct contact with the snow. It wasn't ideal, but he had to do something. There wasn't time to pack the snow into bags, so they simply heaped it around him. Newkirk found himself praying as hard as he could. Andrew had been through so much…he couldn't lose his best mate now!

They all watched in relief as Carter seemed to calm and relax. The convulsions had ended shortly after they had started, and the snow seemed to be helping. Wilson stationed Newkirk right by Andrew with the stethoscope. "Pay close attention to his heart rate. I need to establish an i.v. to get some penicillin and fluids into him, but I don't was him convulsing again. Let me know immediately if his heartrate starts to race, or if anything changes at all. He checked his temperature quickly and frowned. "It's still way too high. A bit better than before, but still 103°. Kinch, you and LeBeau did great. Thank you." He continued to work on Carter as he talked.

Absently, Hogan reached for one of the empty snow containers and placed it under one side of the bunk at Carter's feet. The snow was melting rapidly and the water was now dripping down onto the floor onto Newkirk's blanket. Kinch automatically followed suit and put one on the other side.

Wilson had another problem he was dealing with. In all the fighting, Carter had aggravated the wounds on his back and his arm, and he was bleeding from both areas. It would not mean another debridement, but it would mean flushing out and sponging the areas thoroughly. The one good thing about it was that this time, Wilson would be able to keep Carter under for the procedure. He simply used a bit more morphine. This was not his normal anesthesia, and he did now, thanks to London, have a general anesthetic, but, because he had given Carter morphine, he couldn't use it. Sodium pentathol and morphine could be a deadly combination, as doctors were beginning to learn.

Newkirk insisted on staying at Carter's side and assisting Wilson this time. Hogan and the others went back to the barracks, lest they arouse suspicion. Wilson promised Newkirk would bring word on the young sergeant's condition as soon as they knew anything. And so, for the men of Barracks Two, it once more became a waiting game.

~TBC~

A/N: My apologies for not posting in so long. First, during the month of November, I took part in NaNoWriMo, and wrote the first draft of my HH novel _Earthquake_. I have also just experience a personal tragedy in the form of a death in my family, so my updates may be sporadic for a while. My eldest daughter's father, my ex-husband, passed away suddenly on 7Dec. He was one of my closest friends for forty years. He always championed my writing, and I will miss him. My profile pic is computer graphic artwork my daughter did from her favorite photo of her father. I am flying to Florida to be with my daughter and her family.


	9. They Comfort Me

Though it was very late, Newkirk was sure the men wouldn't be sleeping. When he emerged from the tunnel entrance into the barracks, he saw he was right. All the men were either gathered around the table, or awake in their bunks, anxiously awaiting his return. One oil lamp burned at the center of the table, and LeBeau immediately jumped up to pour him a cup of coffee.

He sat down at the table and lit a cigarette. "Well, mates, 'e's givin' Wilson a run for 'is money, but Andrew's gonna make it." Louis handed him the cup, along with a couple of biscuits, which Peter accepted gratefully, "Ta, mate."

The sighs of relief were audible as grins broke out around the room. Newkirk held up a cautionary hand. "Mind you, 'e's got a long way to go, an' it ain't gonna be easy. But Wilson said 'e thinks the penicillin an' other stuff the boys brought in 'ave done the trick. Carter 'as survived the crisis. Now comes the 'ard part." He paused as he drew a thoughtful drag and sighed.

"Y'see mates, as Wilson explained it t'me, as 'e heals over the next few months, scar tissue will build up, and it will 'ave to be worked to keep 'is back an' arms from stiffenin' to where 'e can't move 'em at all. There's therapy 'e can do, an' that's where we come in. We can 'elp 'im, but it's gonna be very painful for 'im, especially at first.

"Eventually, 'is back will heal, but he'll always have some very nasty scars. 'e should regain full use of his left arm, with intensive therapy. Again, that's where we can 'elp 'im. His upper right arm isn't too bad, so it should heal a bit quicker, but it'll still be painful. Wilson's gonna show us how to work with Andrew to get 'is mobility and strength back in 'is arms."

He looked over at Kinch. "Wilson thought you might be the ideal one to 'elp with 'is back—stretchin' an' upper body strength an' such." Kinch nodded, already mentally planning some workouts.

~HH~

Hogan flinched as he watched Wilson change the bandages on Carter's back. He frowned to himself. _Come on, Rob, get a grip! It's not like you haven't seen this dozens of times in the last few months._ He sighed heavily. _Yeah, but it never gets easier, seeing Carter in pain._ He shook his head as he watched Andrew struggle slowly to his feet. _He's getting better, but it's so damnably slow!_ He turned away before Carter could catch sight of him. All the men knew Carter hated seeing any of his friends worry about him.

Hogan stepped out of the infirmary, stretching in the weak morning sun. He smiled as he spotted Newkirk and LeBeau arguing over a game of cards on the bench outside Barracks Two. Kinch sat quietly on the bench next to them, poring over a clipboard…probably working on a workout schedule for Carter. He was almost at the point where Wilson would be releasing him from the infirmary. Then the real work of healing would begin.

Every day for the past couple of weeks, Joe had been applying a salve of his own invention to Carter's scars. It was meant to ease the stiffness and increase the elasticity of the healing scar tissue. It was also very soothing. Fortunately, the salve was working. Unfortunately, because of some of the ingredients, it had a rather strong odor. It reminded Andrew of the liniment he used to rub on the horses he cared for back home on the reservation. Already, Carter could flex his right arm and was able to sit up on the side of his cot on his own. This was a great improvement over just two months ago. To Andrew, his progress seemed terribly slow, but to Sgt. Wilson, it seemed nothing short of a miracle. To his teammates, anything that would bring Andrew back to them was fine by them.

~HH~

Hilda turned out to be the best medicine for Andrew of all. She surprised him by showing up one day to talk to him. He had been feeling rather lonely, and her visit cheered him up a great deal. Hilda had always liked the quiet young man. He was unfailingly polite and extremely shy around her, always treating her with respect. She had been as upset as the others by his accident, and had missed seeing him when he would come to clean the office.

The first visit a month before had been awkward, because Andrew had been in pain and terribly conscious of the hideous scars. He was sitting up in bed and inadvertently, the beautiful blonde had stepped into the infirmary as Sgt. Wilson was changing the bandages on his upper arm. Hilda had seen them. The look of anguish on Carter's face when he realized what she had seen broke her heart, and brought her to a decision. She would share something with this man she had kept secret since childhood.

Once Sgt. Wilson was finished, Hilda asked if she could visit with the sergeant alone for a few minutes. This request alarmed Corporal Langenscheidt, who had accompanied her on the visit, standing silently in the corner, as was his custom. He agreed, finally, when she smiled sweetly at him and promised she would call him immediately if she needed him. Sgt. Wilson was not sure about the situation, but figured time with a beautiful woman never hurt any man. Both left the room.

When they were alone, Andrew finally looked up at her, questions clearly in his eyes. Hilda looked at him very seriously. "I know you know about Robert and I, what we do."

Catching her meaning, Carter was startled. "Uhhh, well, I- " He blushed deeply.

Hilda smiled gently and spoke quickly. "I am sorry! I do not say this to embarrass you. I only mean that I have only been with him in the dark. He has never seen…this." Hilda sat on the edge of his cot and lifted her blouse slowly, to reveal a large badly healed scar which marred the skin of her otherwise trim stomach.

Carter's eyes widened with concern. Hilda quickly lowered her blouse as she continued speaking. "It happened when I was very small. I was living with my grandmother, and her house burned down. I don't remember much about it." She dropped her eyes from his face as she spoke, and Andrew knew there was far more to the story. He also realized something else.

He lifted her chin gently and looked into her tear-filled eyes. "You've never told anyone about this, have you?"

Hilda shook her head, not trusting herself to speak.

Andrew simply smiled. "I know you're the colonel's girl and all, but I'm your friend, if you ever wanna talk."

She nodded gratefully and left as quickly as she had come.

~TBC~


	10. Beside Still Waters

Chapter Ten—Beside Still Waters

Andrew lay on his stomach, finding himself content, enjoying the feeling of the earth beneath him. It was chilly, but not uncomfortable. He also knew his time was short and that it wouldn't last much longer. He sighed as he heard Joe Wilson's voice. Though he had been released from the Infirmary a week before, Joe still watched him like a hawk, and he still could not lay on his back at all. He was allowed only limited exposure outside. His skin was still extremely sensitive.

"Come on, Carter, that's enough for today." Carter sighed in disappointment, but perked up at the medic's next words. "Besides, your masseuse is due in a few minutes."

Wilson grinned at the smile that lit the young sergeant's face. Hilda had been coming to visit Andrew on a regular basis for the last couple of months. She had taken on the task of massaging the muscles of his back and his arm, helping to break up the heavy scar tissue and increase his mobility. She turned out to be very strong and very skilled. In turn, Andrew was able to draw her out from behind the wall she had built around herself regarding her childhood memories. It was hard to tell who had benefited most from the visits.

It was common knowledge that, though they had had a pursued a long fling, neither Col. Hogan nor Hilda were serious about each other. Most people who knew the colonel well understood that his heart had been captured by a certain French spitfire, and there was no going back. Fortunately, Marie Monet, aka Tiger, was a very strong woman, and felt the same about her Papa Bear, though neither intended to pursue their feelings until after the end of the war.

There had been quite a stir, however, when it became known among the prisoners, that, shortly after Hogan had bowed quietly out of Hilda's affections, shy, naïve Carter had stepped in. It came as no bigger shock to anyone than the man in question himself. There was no animosity between the two men, as Hilda had handled the situation in her usual diplomatic and graceful manner. Above all, Hilda was a lady, and, Hogan, trickster and joker though he could be, was a gentleman.

Hilda had realized early in their relationship that she really liked the young sergeant; and that they had much more in common than she had first realized. Both had come from large families, and both were middle children and both carried scars both physical and emotional. Unlike Andrew, however, who had come from a very close-knit, loving family, Hilda's upbringing had been very different.

Her father had left the family when her youngest sister was born, leaving the family nearly destitute. Hilda never understood why he had left, and quickly learned never to ask. Her grandmother came to live with the family, to help care for the children, while her mother went to work for a local farmer to help feed the family. Her older brothers left for the army so there would be less mouths to feed. It was not enough. Her mother's health soon failed, and eventually, Hilda found her sisters being sent to various relatives after her mother's death. She left Hammelburg to live with her grandmother in Hamburg, where she grew up. She was not reunited with them for many years—in fact, she had only found her twin sister Helga again about five years ago, living a few miles from Hammelburg.

Hilda had gotten her job at Stalag 13 when Helga had fallen in love with a young member of the underground and had escaped with him to London, where they married and were both now active in Papa Bear's organization on that end, acting as liaisons to the refugees, helping them settle into their new lives. It had taken Kommandant Klink a while to get used to Hilda, and he still occasionally slipped and called her by her sister's name.

The long hours of difficult exercising of his arm and back had taken a lot out of Andrew over the last few months and Hilda tried to be there for him as often as she could. Of course, they had to keep their relationship a secret from the Germans in the camp or it would have gone very badly for both of them. With this in mind, they became very adept at hiding their affection, and exchanging messages secretly. It became something of a game between them. Of course, because he already knew how they felt, there was no need to hide his feelings from Colonel Hogan or his teammates, so at least he did not have to pretend for their benefit.

One of their methods of exchanging messages while Carter had been confined to the infirmary was through Corporal Langensheidt, the only German besides Schultz, (who of course, knew NOTHING) who knew of their romance. He had discovered it completely by accident. He had walked in on them one day while Hilda was finishing a massage on his shoulder and arm. Unlike previous massages, this one had grown rather heated, and the two had ended up in an intimate embrace.

Just as Carter shyly kissed Hilda, the German stepped into the room, and nearly dropped his rifle. Carter jumped up in a panic, visions of firing squads dancing in his head. As Langensheidt blustered and threatened to report them, Hilda quickly went to him, and a low, intense, rapid-fire conversation in German took place. Carter's German was good, but even he had trouble following their discussion. Finally, Andrew caught the words "last leave, Heidelberg, and Russian Front."

Karl rolled his eyes and nodded reluctantly. Hilda smiled sweetly and patted his cheek. The odd thing was, he didn't even seem particularly upset with her, even flashing her a quick grin. He turned and left without a backward glance.

As Carter stretched and prepared to head into the infirmary, he remembered staring at Hilda that day after the German had stalked out…

"That was amazing!"

She smiled and kissed him lightly. "Not really, darling. You just have to have the right ammunition in this war."

As Carter stood to head into the infirmary, he saw Hilda coming down the steps of the Kommandantur. He grinned to himself as he admired her lovely figure. Oh, she _definitely_ had the right ammunition!

~TBC~


	11. All is Well

Andrew was not happy. In fact, he was pretty sure he was going die sometime within the next minute or so. His teammates were haranguing him because _they_ weren't happy with _him_.

Carter was bent over at the waist, with Olsen holding his knees so his legs stayed straight. Kinch was kneading his back muscles. Newkirk was kneeling next to him and pulling his arms down toward the floor, since Kinch wasn't at all satisfied with Andrew's efforts at stretching and touching his toes. LeBeau was holding a stopwatch, waiting for him to actually acquire his target.

"Come on, man, you can do better than that! My ninety-year-old grandma can do better than that!" Kinch pushed a bit harder than necessary.

Carter blew out his breath and gasped, "Great, let your grandma do this, then!"

Nevertheless, he continued to push himself until he touched his toes. Newkirk didn't release his arms, but held them in place and nodded at LeBeau, who then started his watch. Carter groaned, but held the position for the full thirty seconds before Newkirk eased his hold and the men worked in tandem to help Andrew slowly reverse direction and straighten up. He rested a moment, and then stretched his arms up over his head, reaching as high as he was able, forcing his injured arm to stretch. Kinch worked the scar tissue and damaged muscles in his arm, causing Andrew to grit his teeth.

This time Newkirk pulled up on his arm, helping it to stretch as much as possible. Again, LeBeau timed the exercise, and Carter held the position for thirty seconds. He lowered his arms afterwards and immediately moved back to touch his toes. They went through fifteen repetitions before Kinch called a break. Carter felt as if he were ready to drop.

LeBeau suddenly lifted Newkirk's arm to peer at his watch. His eyes widened in alarm. He handed the stopwatch to Kinch. "I am sorry _mes amis,_ I must go. I have to prepare for tonight!"

And with that, the Frenchman was out the door, practically at a run.

By mutual agreement, the physical therapy session ended, and all the men headed out to check on the preparations for the evening's festivities.

All that is, except the guest of honor, who was so exhausted that, not bothering to change out of his sweat suit, he headed straight for his bunk and fell almost instantly asleep. A freight train could have passed through the center of Barracks Two and Andrew would never have noticed.

~HH~

Two hours later, Newkirk returned to the barracks, amused to find his best mate snoring loudly. He gently shook his shoulder. "Carter, mate! Wake up, it's time to get ready. Come on!"

Andrew stirred sleepily. "Five more minutes. Leave me alone." He batted grumpily at Peter's hand.

Peter laughed. "Nope, no can do! You gotta get ready. Can't have the man o' the hour sleepin' through all o' the fun, can we?"

Finally, Carter's annoyed blue eyes slid open and gazed at his friend. As he blinked rapidly, Peter saw his normal alertness return. He sat up, and groaned as his abused muscles protested.

"Easy mate," Peter began, then wrinkled his nose as he took in what his friend was wearing "Phew, you smell like Schultzie's boots, Carter! You need a shower!"

Carter turned deep red. "I know. I usually take one right after a workout, but I was so tired this time I just couldn't."

Newkirk was silent for a moment. He felt bad about how hard they had pushed their friend. It had been over six months since his accident, and they were all impatient to have him back as a fully functioning member of the team. It had been a terrible blow to the young man when London had completely scrapped the mission for which he had been constructing the special explosives.

Ironically, they had decided it was just too dangerous for _anyone_ to handle. Carter had taken that decision very personally and had been depressed for weeks, even though intellectually, he understood their reasoning. He had been looking forward to taking up the challenge once more. For his part, Hogan had been furious, and had spent several hours on the radio, demanding to know why, if the mission had been so dangerous, it was ever assigned to his man in the first place. Once he signed off with London, he had never referred to the conversation again.

Newkirk shook himself out of his sad thoughts and grinned. "Well, you better hurry up and get that shower and get ready. Everythin's gonna be waitin' on you…and you know how everyone hates to wait!"

Carter smiled. "Yeah, I know. Go on, I'll be over soon." Newkirk nodded, understanding. He might be Andrew's best mate, but there were still some things that made Carter uncomfortable He lit another of his ever-present cigarettes and left quietly.

Carter tried never to be seen without his shirt around anyone other than Wilson or Hilda if he could help it, changing in the dark as often as possible. At the showers, which were basically open-air, and totally _not_ private, the other men were careful not to stare at him, allowing him his dignity. For this, he would be forever grateful. He sighed, gathered his things, and headed to the shower.

~HH~

The moment Carter stepped outside the barracks after getting dressed, he smelled it. His eyes went wide in wonder. It was the most delicious thing he had ever smelled…popcorn? He grinned, heading in the direction of the rec hall. He skidded to a sudden halt. Andrew could have sworn he had stepped through a looking glass, because that part of the camp looked just like…the county fair back home!

He had known there was going to be a party, but he had no idea it was going to be anything like this!

There were a couple of game booths, a fire over which Olsen was making popcorn, and Louis was manning a giant homemade grill…covered with hot dogs!

LeBeau laughed at the excitement on Carter's face. "I told you a long time ago, _mon_ _ami_ , that I would make you whatever you wanted. I _always_ keep my promises." And the little Frenchman smiled.

Hilda smiled at him. She was dressed as a ballerina. She came over to him, and chastely pecked his cheek. He blushed, making his friends laugh.

Carter looked over at Hogan in confusion. "This is so perfect! How did you guys get it so right?"

Hogan laughed. "What, you think we don't listen to all those stories about home?"

Newkirk ran up to him, grinning, dressed in full circus ringmaster's regalia. Sgt. Freddy perched around his neck for the occasion. He had something behind his back. "We have a present for you, mate."

They all gathered around as Newkirk handed Carter the rather badly wrapped package. He grinned and tore off the brown paper. On top was a flight cap which curiously was nearly identical to his old one, scuffs and all. He smiled and handed it to Olsen to hold for him. Underneath, he found a brand-new flight jacket. He was silent for a moment as he stared at it, remembering his old jacket, and how Daisy had saved his life. He sighed, then smiled as he put the jacket on.

Olsen plopped the cap onto his head, as Newkirk cheekily asked Carter, "So, gotta name in mind?"

Andrew looked at his best friend and grinned. "Of course, I do. Meet Donald!"

~HH~

The End


End file.
